


Love and Death

by ChronicLegCrampSince99



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:29:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicLegCrampSince99/pseuds/ChronicLegCrampSince99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian was dead. But Clary felt numb as she looked on...Character death. *Spoilers: COG, COFA, COLS*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and Death

**Author's Note:**

> *Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments and all its characters belong to Cassandra Clare, respectively*

* * *

Sebastian was dead.

His body lay motionless on the cold ground, on his back, so that Clary could still see the raw gash that ran through his chest and into the organ within. The blood flowing down the skin exposed by the torn material of Sebastian's shirt, glistened like garnets. It was all over. But Clary felt numb as she looked at her brother. His face was angled towards her with a strange expectant expression upon it, as if he had merely closed his eyes momentarily, from fatigue and was waiting for her to tell him it was time to go home. She saw the sight as a grotesque reminder of what could have been- what  _should_  have been. The blood in her veins and heart, thawed.

Sebastian-  _no_. Jonathan; she would not continue to think of him as separate from her life and herself, through a name that had never belonged to him, not now. Images whispered to her mind- a drawing of a dark prince, with a handsome, yet unhappy face. An angry boy with dyed black hair, who had climbed the Demon Towers of Alicante and destroyed the wards. Jonathan, lying in a glass coffin on an isolated roof garden, his tousled, ivory hair floating about his head, in a liquid that most definitely was not water; not quite at peace. The young man that had sat across from her in a Parisian café- that he had insisted had 'the best hot chocolate in Paris'- asking if forgiveness existed for someone like him. A whip-scarred back. Curling lashes. Artistic fingers. Angular, black and white features. A steady heartbeat…

Distantly, Clary registered that she was shaking, almost uncontrollably. Arms came around her then, from behind. They started to gently, tug her away, but she held firm and they instantly ceased. It wasn't that she couldn't move; she didn't want to. There was a wrongness about the thought of leaving her brother here, limp on the ground before her. She couldn't tear her gaze away from his face, as if he would wake up any second- but the thought didn't stem from either fear or anxiety. A familiar voice was murmuring, what she knew were reassurances, in her ear, but all she heard was white noise. Regardless, Clary could make out the sound of her mother crying- distorted and skipping, like a broken record- in the background, and for the first time in her life, she felt no immediate wish to comfort her. Luke was there anyway, by Jocelyn's side, as he always had been and always would be.

The river of red that had pooled on the floor, beside Jonathan, had stilled and the lines, staining his torso, had dried. She thought about kneeling down and lifting his head into her lap, stroking back the fair hair, sticking to his forehead. She was overwhelmed by the intense feeling that she had forgotten to tell him something- something important- but she had no idea what. In fact, in all the time she had known her brother, which had been hardly any time at all, she had never once, wished to talk to him. And now that he'd become an eternal Sleeping Beauty, she did; desperately. She wanted to shout at him to wake up just one more time, so that she could tell him that…

Clary frowned, more in concentration than in anger. In her minds eye, there was a box with her brothers initials engraved on it, and she knew it contained that one thing, he needed to hear; but it was too far out of reach. Although she knew she'd never be able to speak to Jonathan again, she suspected it was vital she discover what was in her mental box of him. Instead, fragments of conversations started to fly through her head, so fast she could scarcely catch them.

 _"So this is the famous Clary…I'd like to get to know you better…Clary, we have a connection. You know we do…is that anyway to talk to your big brother...Maybe I'm not the same person I was…I learnt to play the instruments of war…and paint in blood…And when she ran from Idris, do you honestly think she ever planned to take me with her? She must have been relieved at the thought that I was dead…Tell me you love me and will fight with me…_ Both  _of Valentines children, together…at last…"_

Clary squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to block everything out; her thoughts, her memories, the scene in front of her. Slowly, cracking her emerald eyes open again, she lowered them, not allowing herself to go on staring at Jonathan's dead body.

"…He's not going to come back, this time, Clary…" Jace was saying. It was supposed to comfort her, she knew, but it did the opposite. She stepped out of his grasp, closing her eyes again, as she did. She inhaled and exhaled once, tightly, through her nose. Her right hand loosened, as if in slow motion; the blood-tainted, seraph blade clattered, loudly to the floor.

Jonathan was dead.

And Clary hadn't told him she loved him.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Note: When typing this up, I was listening to Gnossienne No. 1 by Erik Satie.


End file.
